Cersia

Nana’s tears slid like raindrops down a window pane,

Connecting to the streaking water that pooled together

In the shower basin. Her tears did the same in the ceramic

Sink, and, while she gardened, they soaked the soil

for her orchids. She always came back with a houseplant

From the grocery store. She found that the life dependent on

Her cancer-blotched hands was what made her grow,

Too, and sit in the sun and open her white petals to the 

Sky. The frog’s back soon glistened with her tears, 

and then finally arrived in the Florida air that sticks.

She was once Mayor Pro Tempore, you know. La Palma, 

CA. Dairyland, Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm. She was 

A Democrat. She was Woman of the Year in California.

2001. Now, there’s a shrine dedicated to President Trump

Above the mantle. Her son thinks it’s because his father

brainwashed her. Here’s part of a letter she wrote

To Florida Times-Union in 2009: I wish people would 

stop the foolishness of “political correctness” and just

appreciate everyone’s traditions. Just smile and say 

thank you to anyone who wishes you a “happy” day - 

however they express it! Now she thinks Putin has invaded

Maine. Her grandfather was a lighthouse keeper in

Portland. He can't guide her through the fog anymore.

Nana’s son is a general contractor. He said he loves his job

Because what he and the homeowners have is a vision.

When he is the one to conjure this vision from the 

Ground he watches their faces. He watches how their 

Eyebrow and smile wrinkles crack from their frowning

Position and transition into an expression of awe. He has

Made their dream come to life. Nana’s daughter is an MD.

When the daughter was young she had a horse named 

Cersia. Back at the stalls, the daughter heard a loud wail 

Through the trees in the forest and she ran to Cersia 

Like the horse had been running just before. When she 

Found Cersia, she was toppled over with her ankle in the 

Wrong direction. A large mud pit had fallen beneath itself.

Nana’s daughter would never feel powerless again. 

Nana asked me if I remembered Cersia. I am not your

Son, I wanted to say, but, instead I said yes. She asked

Me if I remembered the way Cersia would run through

The trees with her nose high. How she would gallop

On the canopy and upwards towards the clouds. 

She was trying to reach the end of the fog, 

My Nana said, and you will not hear her cry.